


Give Him The Rest

by wickedrum



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Jaskier | Dandelion, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Geralt, suggested mutation, traditional sickfic, virtually no plot for the sake of whump, worried loved ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Jaskier hasn’t heard of Geralt for a few years after the two fell out following the dragon adventure. Then one day, he gets a message from the witcher asking for his help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 27
Kudos: 327





	1. The Devil's Horns

**Author's Note:**

> Set: Mostly showverse, before Geralt meets Ciri.
> 
> Disclaimers: I barely own my knickers. When I am writing, it's mainly for my own pleasure.
> 
> Note 1: I’ve never played the game, but the show is too compelling not to get involved in some way or another. I did make an attempt at reading the books. 
> 
> Note 2: I don't do this, ever. Abandon a fic, a fandom and start (in) another. The Witcher though, it took me by storm.

Chapter 1: The Devil’s Horns

The Roggeven tavern was no different than any other in Redania, but it did have the advantage of not being in a large city where Jaskier would be more likely to run into someone it wasn’t advisable for him because of some past fiasco, and it also had the advantage of storing Mettina Rose. It’s a glass of this piquant wine he had in front of him while having a go at writing his memoirs, focusing on all the quests he had accompanied Geralt on. It always took him a long time to finish one page as missing the warrior usually made him stare into space for a while. “I was told you are Jaskier? Also known as Dandelion or Julian Alfred Pankratz, the poet?” Someone touched his shoulder.

“Yes? I’m sorry, what? How do you know my name? My full, real name so matter of factly? I make sure not to tell anyone lately,” he eyed the large busted woman in a rather short red skirt with thin leather belts that were clearly more for show rather than of actual use, especially in the places they were attached to. Certainly not a common townsfolk outfit. She was very beddable at any case.

“Your friend sent me,” the prostitute announced.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no, what friend,” the whole affair sounded rather dodgy, “because I haven’t done anything, whatever they’re saying!”

“Geralt of Rivia. He’s at the brothel in Novigrad and needs you to come immediately.”

“No, Geralt? He said we’re friends? Did he call me that? Don’t embellish it, I want to know exactly what was said!” Jaskier was as eager for that to be true as he was dubious of the unexpected turn of events.

“I don’t know, I don’t remember the exact word,” the woman was dismissive of that consideration, “we need to hurry,” she pretty much grabbed hold of his arm to pull him out the booth.

“Oh, well then, but what does he want from me.” Jaskier was not over being hurt by the witcher’s outburst after the dragon hunt and he was intending to make him suffer for it if the chance arose, but he dropped a coin onto the table for his drinks and helpfully let himself be dragged across the room anyway.

“He seeks your help.”

Jaskier stared for a bit. “Very well, very well, but why would he do that? And how. That’s deranged. And in the middle of the night? I’m confused. What help could I possibly give him? Did he butcher some town again and needs some good rep in form of songs?” Intrigued, he still followed the prostitute out onto the street, “but it takes hours to walk to Novigrad!”

“We have transportation,” the woman stepped to the beam the horses outside the tavern were tied to and released a brown mare.

“You’re kidding me. That’s Roach! Whew, Geralt let you take her?” The troubadour was half offended, half weary that it was some sort of joke. Only Geralt didn’t have a sense of humour like most people to tease him like that. 

“I didn’t ask him if I could take her,” the scantily dressed woman was disparaging, “I was in a hurry,” she mounted the mare, “jump on, we need to go quick,” she explained as if to a dimwit. 

“Um..you see Geralt doesn’t let anybody touch Roach, the old girl,” the bard was still reluctant and not wanting the witcher to witness him riding the horse in case of repercussions. He could not take another angry outburst directed at him from the object of his affections.

“Geralt is too ill to do anything. I have no idea what he wants from you if the healer couldn’t do anything.”

“Ill?” That was the only word Jaskier needed to mount the animal and hold on to his travel companion so they could set off, “that’s absolutely impossible. You mean injured? Look, for I’m fairly certain witchers don’t get ill.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, bard. Geralt has come through my whorehouse every time he’s around for the last decade and a half and it’s me he always visits. What I’m saying is that I know him well. I know him miserable, broken-hearted, steaming paralytic, juiced up, recovering from an injury, amorous, poisoned and occasionally jolly. It’s how he is now that scares me, barely coherent, belly cramping so much he’s practically convulsing.”

“Right.” The bard tried to digest the information. “Oh shit, no. How long has he been like that?”

“Two days that we tried to soothe him, tried the both healers within a day’s range, one of them an elf. He can’t keep anything down and says he’s been like that for a while before he’d arrived. He doesn’t even have the strength to scream of pain anymore. ”

“Yes well, let’s suppose that it’s some magical ailment, it must be,” Jaskier felt his own insides clench at the thought of knowing that the Geralt he admired so much was in such distress. 

“The elf healer claims he can’t sense any presence of harmful spells or potions.”

“Oh really, is that true? Well then either way, we need to get there as swiftly as possible!” Jaskier urged the horse determinedly on, though the animal already seemed to know they were in a hurry to aid her master.

Tbc


	2. Tender Meat

Chapter 2: Tender Meat

Although Jaskier thought his own imagination decent enough for poetry, nothing prepared him for the actual sight of his beloved friend. The first thing that struck him was not the witcher’s paleness or raspy, difficult breathing, but the fact that he had obviously lost a noticeable amount of weight, telling of more of some prolonged affliction that could affect him this way. He was lying on his side, his long legs drawn up towards his belly, periodic tremors going through his whole body with which the grip he had on his stomach tightened and something like a quiet whimperlike sound left his parted lips that almost killed Jaskier because it was so unlike he had ever heard coming from the warrior. The poet threw himself at the ground, in front of him and embraced the bigger man’s upper torso, burying his head into his arm, “but for the love of magic, heavens, what do I do.” 

“The healer left us potions. Golden Oriole, Maribor Forest, Tawny Owl. They seem to help with the pain at least, especially the White Raffard’s Decoction.”

“But nothing actually curative,” Jaskier raised his head.

“Any injury or poisoning he had before on occasion, it always eventually healed on its own,” the prostitute revealed the knowledge she had possessed about the nature of witchers, “maybe, maybe this will be the same.” Though it was clear she sounded distraught. 

Jaskier shook his head, “um...there’s only one thing I can think of doing. It might not work and nobody will like it, including me, but that must be why I’m here. Cause I know who could help. That is, if she still operates a business in Rinde. I have no idea, but we have got to try.”

“Anything,” the promiscuous woman seemed all too keen, clearly one of the witcher’s many conquests. 

“Right. Roach can’t carry him like this, do you think you can get us a cart and some men to carry him out?”

“Do you have coin? I already used everything he had on him for the healers and paying for the room.”

Jaskier didn’t hesitate to shove his purse into the woman’s hand, not bothering to count or even divide its contents, “yes, yes, yes, hurry.”

“I can see Quanisha has brought some fresh, cold water in,” the prostitute nodded suggestively towards the bowl in the corner on her way out, “there’s more in the bucket. There are instructions on the potions, I gave him a dose of everything before going to get you.”

The bard just nodded, too nervous to do anything else but stare at his friend. Fisting his fingers, he stood helplessly for a moment, virtually hyperventilating before getting himself together enough to think of actually trying to do something. The rag was in the bowl, the water piercingly cold as he rang it out. He was stupid, he almost spilled the dish as he brought it closer, then was hesitant to touch Geralt. Instead, Jaskier slowly pulled the pillow from under him, replacing the vomit covered one with a fresh one and only after the witcher’s moaning quietened did he dare to wipe the sweat off the warrior’s forehead. 

Geralt sighed, as if relieved a little, but it turned into a moan once again and the witcher’s body shuddered, making him moan some more. It wasn’t something Jaskier could cope with, he was fully understanding the prostitute’s desperation to rally round for help. He grabbed the white wolf’s free hand that wasn’t wound round his belly. “Geralt. I’m here, it’s Jaskier, your bard. Why am I here? What can I do?”

There was no response, but not just that. The hand he held was limp, so unnatural in the case of the witcher. “Geralt, do not dare do this to me. I love you man,” he squeezed, panic finally changing his behaviour to acting, rather than lamenting. With a sudden thought, he dipped the rag into the bowl again, took it out without ringing it out and placed it onto Geralt’s lower abdomen, the part he could get to that wasn’t covered with the witcher’s muscular arm. The invalid sighed again, giving Jaskier the impression that the experience wasn’t unpleasant so he did it again, not waiting for the fallout moans to start, then again and again. Geralt seemed to favour it, that was clear as he unclenched a little, giving Jaskier more room for manoeuvre on his stomach, a greater area to cover. Two more times and his eyelids started to flutter.

“Hey, hey, what happened? Tell me what you need,” Jaskier grabbed for his hand again and this time, Geralt’s long fingers closer weakly, shakingly round his. 

“I believe Kaer..Morhen..” It was barely above a whisper.

“Kaer Morhen? What about Kaer Morhen, Geralt? The place is abandoned is it not?” The singer said slowly, confusedly.

“Damn, take..” Geralt’s grip loosened, his hand dropping back on the bed as he panted, rolling his head to bury his pain filled expression into the pillow.

“There’s no way to carry you up the mountain. What is in Kaer Morhen apart from ruins and some phantoms, Geralt?”

“Ask to die..” It sounded like a desire.

“Die? Oh really? You can die here just fine? Besides, I’m not letting you die, sorry! I need a lot more inspiration from this muse so no, don’t even think about it!”

“Fuck Jask..you’re..”

“Now, now, I’m here, Geralt,” the bard felt the need to ground the other with a firm hand on his arm.

“It hurts.” The world was uttered shakily, wretchedly, making Jaskier’s heart feel like shattering in half. Geralt was the strongest being he ever knew and he’d never heard him complain about anything physical before. 

“The cold water helped, let’s hope it does again,” the younger man jumped for the bucket, assuming it was still of a low temperature and dipped the rag straight into that. During the few moments’ relief the compress gave Geralt, Jaskier was going to look at the potion vials’ instructions for further assistance. 

Tbc


	3. Bring You The Morn'

Chapter 3: Bring You The Morn’

Jaskier could see the sun breaking through the fog on the horizon to his right, letting him know the journey to Rinde took longer than it should have taken. It was a tradeoff. While he considered getting to the sorceress’ last known residence of great importance, he couldn’t with clean conscience hurry on and ignore Geralt trashing in the back, cry out for him, or be sick on himself with the risk of choking on his own bile, the only thing left in his stomach at this point. Not to mention that Roach was no carriage horse and stopped the cart in an agitated manner every time her master seemed in greater distress. Her chaotic head pulling gave Jaskier a clue this time as well to look behind and he found Geralt vomiting once more as he was, half conscious. The light was musky, but the bard was pretty sure that now it was blood spewing out his mouth. “Shit, no, no, no, please,” Jaskier swung himself over to the back, grabbing at Geralt’s torso to pull him into more of a sitting position. The singer had no idea if it would help, but he couldn’t just do nothing. “Geralt, you need to hold on, you can’t run out of luck now,” he begged as he held the body against himself, surprised by how it wasn’t as heavy as it should have been. Looking around, Jaskier assured himself that the amount of blood lost wasn’t anywhere near a dangerous quantity for a witcher, though could he be sure of anything at this point. Reaching out, he reorganised the hay in the cart so that Geralt could be positioned with his head higher than before and placed the limp body back down, startled that the White One’s golden eyes were hazily being focussed on him. 

“I’m sorry for brushing you aside and blaming you for things you had no control over. It was a pitiful excuse.” The witcher sounded way too lucid for someone who just threw up blood and it terrified Jaskier, but he could maybe use the occurrence to his advantage?

“Do you know what is this insanity that’s wrong with you?” The professional entertainer demanded. 

“I’ll perish of Trial of the Grasses.”

“Trial of the Grasses? Do not tell me that. What do you mean?” Jaskier touched Geralt’s forehead to check for fever. Maybe the witcher was delirious.

“Mutagens. Believe me, I recognise the symptoms.”

“I know what Trial of the Grasses means, you told me all about it before, remember? And everything else that happened like a hundred years ago.”

“No, Vesemir’s trying to create new witchers.”

“Oh. Alright, but what does that have to do with you or anything.”

“Only I’m supposed to be the most resistant..”

“You mean you let him experiment on you to find the formula? Well no um, you know what, I’m definitely not taking you back to Kaer Morhen for that.”

“Please Jas,” Geralt seemed to be running out of steam. His eyes closed but he reached a hand out to touch the other’s knee. 

“Good, good, do you think Vesemir has the antidote or something like that?”

“No. But he needs to know not to try this on anyone. Something wrong. Delayed effects.”

“Forget it Geralt. You know, all the more reason to look for help elsewhere,” Jaskier eyed the depleting medicinal supplies, hoping they would last at least till he could reach another healer, be that Yennefer or not. 

“I’m burning inside. Promise me..” Geralt’s hand hovered blindly till he got hold of the bard’s arm.

“I promise nothing, apart from not letting you die,” the musician was determined, rummaging in the witcher’s bag, “look, we have a potion labelled Perfume left..that’s strong alcohol, right? It should dull the pain and make you sleep,” he brought the vial to his travel companion’s lips. 

“You stop that nonsense this instant,” Yennefer’s voice was accompanied by the glass flying out his hand. 

“You’re here? Yes!” Jaskier stared, mouth open.

“Luckily for you, Geralt and I, we’re connected. I heard, I felt his suffering,” she jumped up onto the cart to take over.

“Well, couldn’t you have bloody heard it earlier,” the bard gave her space, but would not leave his friend’s side. 

The mage however was too focussed on her lover to answer. She touched his face, stroked his bristly shadow of a beard, leaned down to kiss him. Geralt opened bleary eyes at her and smiled, “I know you’re really here..” He stared at her adoringly, smiling, not seeing anything else. She tried to pry his arm away from his belly, slide a palm under. The way he looked at her, it was as his pain was suddenly of no relevance, no matter how much agony he was in. 

“No curse, no magic, no injury,” Yennefer summarised the findings of her examination, “real bad cramps, internal bleeding, faster, erratic heartbeat,” she looked at the bard as if for clarification.

“Yeah, I can imagine..I could make an attempt at murdering Vesemir but you would have a much better chance..”

“So Vesemir did this?”

“Yeah well, yeah exactly. It was an accident, apparently. Just found out.”

“I need to know the ingredients, the mutagens?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Or sorry, yours is probably better.”

“Geralt, what were the ingredients? Everything.” She tried to get him to answer or at least understand the question by touching his face and tilting his gaze towards her.

“Yen..” He stared up at her adoringly and dazed, trying to touch her back the same way. He cared of nothing else. 

“You have to let me help you, think!” The mage was getting desperate, “what colour was the brew? Or was it an infusion?”

“Different..” Geralt tried his best to get his mind working, “new. Not one colour. I don’t know, bitter.”

“I would say that’s typical of Geralt, volunteer to get himself into a fix, ask questions later. I mean hello?” Jaskier supplied. 

“Not very helpful yourself, ballad-monger,” Yennefer was irritable, “Geralt, do you know of any of the ingredients at all?”

“You know usuals..griffin, succubus, wyvern, nonharmfuls.”

“He can’t tell. We’re not really going to get any further on that avenue,” the bard advised, “can you still help him?”

Yen took a survey of the discarded empty vials in the cart. “I have nothing you haven’t already given him, but my magic can keep him calm and lull his pains till we get to Kaer Morhen. The Continent is vast. Just because we don’t know of a cure doesn’t mean there isn’t one. It’s simply beyond our scope for the moment. I’ll stay here in the back with him so I can use laying on of my hands on him. I’ve got some oils to rub on too. You’re taking us to the old Keep.”

“So we’re going to Kaer Morhen after all? Yeah, you know I have no idea how, don’t you?”

“I want you to turn the cart around and drive for now,” Yennefer lowered herself to lie down against the witcher, closing her eyes to direct all her intent into the hand she placed on his aching belly. Geralt leaned his head against her shoulder on instinct, cocooning into the safety of her arms. At some level, he knew his stomach hurt just the same and made him unable to function, but it became a distant awareness that he gave no significance to. If this was the end, then he would consider it happy after all.

Tbc


	4. Back On The Shelf

Chapter 4: Back On The Shelf

“My love, you need to drink some more,” Yennefer was desperate to get a few mouthfuls of fresh water from the stream down Geralt’s throat.

“But can’t, hurts,” the witcher struggled to shift and turn away.

“What? It hurts to swallow?”

“When it goes down, inside..” Geralt whispered with his eyes closed so he did not see the mage’s stricken, panicked look, but he did sense it, “just lie with me Yen, I will feel better then. Please,” he made an effort to turn his head, rubbing his forehead weakly into the arm she held herself up with while coaxing him. 

Desperate to provide him with at least a little comfort after several failed attempts at healing him, Yennefer scooted down as per his request, taking care to smoothly slide down by his side, leaning her head against his, but making sure not to jostle his abdomen. To her surprise, he made an effort to turn his head more and raise it a little so he can kiss her softly, following it up with a gentle lick and pull of her bottom lip before his energy ran out and his head fell back with a displeased grunt. 

“Easy, easy,” Yennefer winced herself, tortured by seeing him so weak. “Well, why don’t you let me,” she followed the distanced lips to place a chaste, tender kiss on them, “I am so sorry I cannot break the mutagens’ hold on you.”

“You did enough, I’ll manage. With you here, it doesn’t hurt so much. Thank you for that.”

“It’s not enough!” The mage was angry with herself for not knowing everything. “I’ll admit it’s a major shortfall of my Aretuza education, not covering witchers much, one that I will take up with Tiassai when the occasion arises.”

“Hm. You stalker.” Geralt moved his arm to pull her closer, encourage her to lay her head on his shoulder. Lilac and gooseberries. The scent settled him, calmed him. His breathing deepened and it was strangely his more grounded rhythm that compelled her to compose herself as well, give him what he needed, an anchor to self-possession and tranquility. She gave up looking into his murky, closing eyes and into the hand round her waist and settled against him, only keeping awareness of the tendril of her will that kept his stomach cramps at bay. 

“For this is way too comfortable, almost like dying in bed,” the wolf mused.

“Which is why you are not dying, oh no, no, no, no. Witchers don’t die in bed,” Jaskier showed that he was paying attention to what was happening just behind him, “don’t you forget that.”

It elicited a lazy, sad smile from both the cart’s occupants. It did look way too peaceful and misleading, as if safe and happy in each other’s arms. A blind man could see they belonged together and it had nothing to do with some inane magic. Yennefer seemed to nestle in more, exhausted by her use of powers and slid her hand over across his chest. Partly because it was easier to feel his heartbeat that way, monitor his condition, but she hoped she was discreet enough about it. She didn’t like how irregular and feeble it was beating, not one bit but it also reassured her. It was still beating. Instinctually, she shifted her head, her ear closer, the resonation of his heartbeat binding her to this feeling, this certainty that he was alive. Didn’t he bind himself to her? As long as she was alive, so should he. The thought placated her and lulled her, making her give into some much needed sleep. Maybe once she’s rested, then she could tackle his affliction with renewed effort. 

“Geralt? Yennefer?” Jaskier was somewhat alarmed by the quiet in the back. On inspection with a thorough look, the witch seemed asleep. Geralt, not so much. At least not the noticeable bulge in his pants. “Figures, don’t tell me.” He did not take the occurrence however as a sign that the witcher was feeling better. It was just a thing with those two. 

Geralt shifted and the grunt that escaped him had nothing to do with pain, that much of Jaskier was sure. There was probably no risk at this point that the moment will escalate into an incident of voyeurism like with the occasion of their first adventure together, still and all the bard decided to ignore what was happening in the cart just the same. He didn’t see the witcher move his hand, away from his stomach for the first time in days and finger his on and off lover’s hair tenderly instead, comforted by how the brown locks felt mingling with his hairs on his chest, his shirt wide open for access to his belly. Under her soothing spell, it still hurt and incapacitated him considerably, but he was intent on letting her rest. What was more, that connection the djinn established between them will have to be broken as he had no intentions to bring her down with him for any longer. If she would be affected by his possible demise in any way, it was not fair. One more reason to get to Kaer Morhen and utilise someone’s more advanced sorcerer’s expertise than himself as soon as possible. That djinn was still out there somewhere and not contained. Would there be a connection either of the three of them possessed with it after their intense escapade together that could be used? While it seemed like a good idea at the time, his last wish was dim, he should have never endangered Yen to save her once. He had to find a way to undo the wish. Now if he could only tell Jaskier what he needed from him without making Yennefer aware. First, her reached for his sword lying by his side and raised it to poke the driver of the waggon in the back with its hilt. 

“Oh! Are you alright?” Was Jaskier’s first reaction looking back, followed by confusion. 

Telepathy wasn’t one of Geralt’s advanced skills, but as a witcher, he possessed some ability, even if it required a lot of effort when not happening spontaneously. “I need you to make a detour after all while Yen is asleep.”

Jaskier had to gulp at Geralt’s deep, manly voice resonating not just inside his head, but all through his body, “um..what?” He was more overwhelmed by the sensation than anything as he muttered.

“Jaskier, listen. The lake where I found the amphora, it’s close. It should be possible to find some of the broken pieces, it would be better.”

“Well, but excuse me Geralt if I don’t think it’s the best idea to mess with that particular..”

“Don’t say the word out loud!” The witcher cut his words off in his mind, “please do this for me. Believe me, this is why it had to be you. You know where exactly it would be.”

The poet shook his head, “ooh you know, I usually have more sense of self-preservation, but when it comes to you..”

“Yes, quick, Jaskier, we don’t have much time,” Geralt’s fingers dug back into his belly in a vain effort to halt the developing of cramps. Yennefer may have quietened them, but using his powers pretty much nullified that. Now he would have to keep still and quiet, making sure he wasn’t showing any manifestations of his suffering and did not wake the exhausted mage.

Jaskier frowned. His friend’s paling, his bite of a lip and anguished expression was hard to miss. The bard gave a good replica of the witcher’s traditional dissatisfied ‘hm, fuck’ and stood up at the front as he held the reins so he could make out better which direction the damn djinn lake was. He would have given his strumming arm not to see the witcher in such a state.

Tbc


	5. The Edge of The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet some other witchers.

Chapter 5: The Edge of the World

By the time the cart reached the part of the slope up the mountain to Kaer Morhen where Roach could no longer be safely and reasonably expected to be able to handle the weight pulling at her, with or without Jaskier’s help up, Geralt has went a macabre shade of grey. Yennefer said he was seriously dehydrated from not being able to keep much down and that she was keeping him alive with a constant flow of energy, but at this point the bard wondered how long she would be able to do that, herself going paler and her usually bright eyes dimmer by the minute. Jaskier didn’t even dare think of asking for her help up the steep mountainside, magical or otherwise. 

If not for the dire circumstances, the musician would have thought it was beautiful up there, and would have pestered Geralt for any little memory that could accompany the view. The next problem was however, there were stone stairs! Old, but clearly crafted by a stonemason some time long ago, they connected two cliffs with the abyss on either side. Jaskier was not a great big fan of heights, not to mention this was the end of the ride. Neither Roach nor the cart would be able to make it across there. Securing the wheels with some large stones, he regarded the yet again sleeping pair in the back. Though the term sleeping was a bit generous. They were both exhausted by ailments caused by magic in one way or another. He might have to wake Yennefer, but for now, he had other things to do. 

The fort didn’t seem any less deserted as he balanced on the stones at the other side of the stairs. The railing was of a deplorable condition. Nevertheless, he didn’t imagine the place would be so big, he would have needed a map not to get lost in those courtyards and corridors and underpasses. Spurred by a new idea, he clung onto some roots to propel himself atop a grass covered part of the wall with a good vantage point of the uncovered areas inside the keep, grabbed his lute that had been attached to his back all along and launched into song, “When a humble bard

Graced a ride along

With Geralt of..”

It didn’t take long for an effect. He only just started the chorus when the instrument was grabbed out of his hand by another man with white hair and a weatherworn face, clothes rather similar to Geralt’s but brown. “Why are you making me climb up here with my creaky bones to stop that racket! I’m really old, you know.”

“I can see witchers aren’t particularly fond of ballads,” Jaskier stood, holding his hand out for the lute. “No, you don’t,” he stood his ground steadfast, virtually furious with the witcher in front of him, “I was only playing to get your attention. How dare you torture my friend!”

Well aware of the hatred some poeple had for witchers, Vesemir scoffed, “who may that be and what do you think I have done. Not to mention personally. I doubt that.”

“He lost a lot of blood and other fluids and you’re just a fencing instructor! You may have finally killed him. Geralt. Is that what you wanted?” The bard seethed. 

“Geralt?” It seemed like the word had an effect on the other as he stepped back, guard and sword somewhat down. 

“Can you undo what you’ve done, huh?” Jaskier demanded, “or you’ve decided he’s just as disposable as he once was when his mother left him with you?”

“A friend, I take it?” Vesemir regarded the young man after his outburst, “where is Geralt?” Though he did not wait for the answer. With big leaps, he disappeared under an arch, leaving the bard to his own devices to descend and find his way back to where he came from. “What is this?” The old witcher was hovering over the two laid out figures in the wagon by the time Jaskier could catch sight of him again. 

“Their destinies are connected if you’d care,” the sonneteer started to explain.

“I can sense they are,” Vesemir waved him off, “Geralt should know there’s no going back once the alchemical processes of the Trial of the Grasses were set in motion. What do you seek from me?”

Jaskier frowned, “not too be so blase for one,” he rolled his eyes, “some father figure you are,” he was still angry with the older man, “but then again I can see where Geralt gets it from now, it would follow.” He rummaged in his sack as he talked and handed the witcher instructor the couple of pieces of ceramic that he found by the lake as requested by his friend. “Djinn housing, or part of it. The djinn that connected them. Geralt wants it undone.”

Vesemir stared at the broken pieces for only a moment. “Wild Hunt Quest, boys?” He seemed to be looking behind the bard, which made him twirl around to be facing a brown, young looking fellow and a scary, heavily scarred faced one with jolly red perpendicular stripes on his overcoat. From their build and the way they held themselves, undoubtedly witchers. 

The scarred one came closer and stared into the cart, “ladies man, even half dead.”

“What do you need us to do?” The other scrutinised Jaskier up close. 

“As I understand, a djinn’s to be captured and forced to reverse a wish,” the resident witcher handed the amphora pieces over, “something to locate it with. But before that, let’s take Geralt and his beloved up to his old room.”

Tbc


	6. High Up On The Mountain

Chapter 6: High Up On The Mountain

Yennefer woke slowly. Even before she opened her eyes, her first priority was to extend her senses and check on Geralt, as fuzzy and sluggish her brain felt. To her surprise, he wasn’t in pain beside her, more like in a suspended state like a healing sleep and she was pretty sure it wasn’t her doing. That fact was enough to wake her up more and sit up, making the blanket she was covered up with slide off of her onto the quite rigid, uncomfortable bed they were lying on. Her only comfort was still having him warm and with welcoming arms around her, though she would have to at least turn and investigate what had happened and where they were. 

“Just don’t do anything drastic,” Jaskier’s melodic, comforting voice was accompanied by a gentle hand on her shoulder, “I honestly don’t rate Vesemir’s witching abilities all that high by what I’ve seen so if you attack him, then we might not be able to use him at all, he will deplete all he has.”

“I need to speak to him,” Yennefer swung her legs down, “that’s why we’re here. The sooner, the better.”

“I beg to differ,” Jaskier winced, not keen on this part, “I hate to break it to you, but that’s not why Geralt wanted to come. And it isn’t to warn Vesemir either.”

Yennefer’s expression was daggers as he had expected and he shrunk back, never fully coming to trust the mage, “besides, Vesemir might actually be a little busy at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” The black haired woman hissed impatiently. 

“Oh, it’s probably better if I show you, you would most likely be able to make better sense of all that hoodoo. Follow me,” Jaskier led her down the corridor and to a balcony with a view over an interior hall with wind swirling round it in a rhythmical manner, in the middle of which sat the old witcher, his eyes blank but seemingly both fighting someone and in an animate conversation with someone at the same time as he held the couple of bits of ceramic Jaskier was able to find by the lake. 

It did make Yennefer pause a little, “his mind isn’t here. Interrupting him might result in a loss of consciousness in both locations. It’s unpredictable. Where is his mind?” She needed to know to decide on a course of action.

“With Lambert and Eskel, I’d assume their names are. I recognised both witchers from how they were described in Geralt’s tales.”

“Vesemir has sent them after the djinn,” Yennefer guessed the rest. She had to reconsider what was to be done, even if her wish would have been to eviscerate the older witcher in protest, or at least scream at him, “I need to join their common consciousness, help the quest. You stay with Geralt,” she took towards the steps. 

“Um...and do what?” Jaskier was already freaking out about having to see his best friend in pain and not being able to do anything about it. 

“Keep him comfortable of course,” the woman rushed off in a direction the musician didn’t want her to. He stood for a moment, contemplating whether he was still needed to make sure a confrontation between Vesemir and Yennefer was still in the cards, but the mage just sat down at the bottom of the stairs in the lotus position, ready for the spectral task at hand so Jaskier went back hesitantly into the witcher’s old bedroom.

“Ooh Geralt, calm down!” There was no more time for hesitation once Jaskier saw that the man he would have given everything for was squirming and twitching, half aware and clearly distressed by no up close magical intervention or contact keeping him settled. Jaskier was at a loss so for the lack of anything better to do, he climbed onto the bed quickly and took Yennefer’s previous position, sliding against him, head on Geralt’s shoulder. He placed his palm on the ailing witcher’s abdomen, moving it round and round slowly and soothingly. 

Geralt moaned, but it didn’t seem like the pain filled kind of moan, rather one that was elicited by it being quietened. At least that’s what Jaskier was trying to convince himself of till Geralt’s even raspier than normal voice resonated in his ears, “Jas? Is it done then?”

“Not quite. But Vesemir and your blood brothers are definitely working on it.”

“When? Close?” 

“Yes, I believe they’re close to achieving it,” Jaskier rubbed Geralt’s arm now in reassurance, “it looked like a total pandemonium out there like when the djinn was there so it has got to be close, right?”

“Where is Yen?” Geralt twisted his body to struggle into a sitting position with a sudden alertness, “I have to…” It didn’t reward him with much success. It felt like his midsection was trying to cut itself in half so he folded with it, barely giving Julian time to catch him and ease him back down. 

“She’s well, she’s safe. Look, I can call her if you want, you need something to help with the pain,” the bard was frantic, almost crying in his helplessness. 

“She’s well, right?” It was the only part of what was said that Geralt’s foggy mind clang to. He searched out Jaskier’s eyes for confirmation, grabbing his neck to establish eye contact.

“Yes, yes, she is, I swear. You really love her very much, don’t you?” Not that it was anything surprising, but if the wolf needed it so much, then Jaskier would accept it. There was nothing more vital to him than keeping Geralt happy.

The larger man’s hands fell off of him and Geralt’s eyes closed as he curled up on his side, going into a half conscious state yet again, satisfied by the answers he got. Jaskier was at a loss once more about whether to leave him in that condition or call for help, or try to soothe him himself. To his surprise, his mind was made up by the witcher himself when he reached out and grabbed for Jaskier’s hand, pulling it over to press it hard into his cramping belly, “because that rubbing, it helps,” Geralt whispered, struggling to force intelligible words out his dry throat. 

“Alright, alright, yes, I can do that,” Jaskier pressed the heel of his palm against Geralt’s amazing abdominals, intent on covering every bit if it helped at all. It didn’t even occur to him that the witcher would simply want to keep him comfortable too, and lulled into thinking he was doing something useful. The way the constant pain like lances seared through his torso, it really made no difference either way. 

Tbc


	7. A Humble Bard

Chapter 7: A Humble Bard

Jaskier didn’t suppose the witchers’ training facilities had ever been comfortable, but once the fortress had half burned down, there seemed to have been little effort made to make the remaining rooms homely or even agreeable. This one may have been given extra attention in the last few days due to Geralt’s illness and enhanced with blankets galore and a cosy fireplace to go with it, but ultimately there was nothing in it, just a bed and some dusty old books in the corner. Surely keeping in touch with witchers chasing a djinn across borders would have been exhausting for Yennefer and Vesemir, but Jaskier felt like keeping a witcher’s temperature down and his belly as comfortable as possible 27/7 was also a full time job. So when the old master finally reported that the lovers’ bond was ultimately broken and the very sexy but insane witch claimed she was now unaffected and at long last more able to heal Geralt, the ailing witcher himself seemed to have entered a more restful sleep as a result, and Jaskier took the opportunity to drop off himself, right there where he had been busy tending to his friend on the bed. 

When Geralt’s eyes opened some time in the late afternoon, with the setting sun brightly illuminating the room like it always did given the angle of his window, the witcher found both his shoulders numb with Jaskier and Yennefer occupying one each. His old teacher was asleep in the corner with his head on top of the books. The sight bewildered and mystified him, but most of all, it made him feel embarrassed. Already too many were affected by his illness and then there were Lambert and Eskel, on the road somewhere. His next thought was to take stock of how he was feeling, physically, as the lack of too much pain caught up with his awareness. He was a little cold as the room’s occupants seemed to have left the fire to die out and the bed’s two other inhabitants had confiscated his quilts for their own use, but the smarting of his belly had decreased to a dull ache that resembled hunger and there was a tingle in his whole body that urged him to move, get up, do something useful. He wriggled a little, trying to push himself upwards toward the headboard so that the other two would slide down on his arms and he was just about to free his limbs when his bedfellows both put a hand on his chest and jumped up into a sitting position.

“Oh, easy Geralt, are you alright?” 

The witcher raised his eyebrows as it was hard to say which part of the sentence came from which or maybe it was both people talking at the same time. Now in unison, they grabbed his hands as well. 

“How are you feeling? Tell me quick!” 

“Are you two connected now somehow? It’s hard to figure.” Geralt questioned the continuing unison talk.

“Would you just shut up Jaskier,” Yennefer motioned with her head at him suggestively to move. 

“Not till I know he’s healing,” the bard stood his ground, “you’d better believe I won’t budge.”

“I think I am getting better,” the witcher was still a little baffled by it all, “what the fuck.” When did people start to care for him so much? “Is everyone else good as well? What happened?”

“Your witcher pals are unharmed,” the troubadour thought his friend would want to know.

“Good. You’re alright..” Geralt marvelled at Yennefer’s smiling face and reached out to it to pull her close. 

“And you, my darling..” The woman ate him up with her gaze.

Jaskier of course knew what would happen next. Those two might have been questioning whether their attraction was due to magic, but it was obvious it wasn’t by this time. Not the way they were looking at each other, not the way they devoured each other’s mouths. The bard pushed himself off the bed backwards while Yennefer was already covering the witcher’s body with hers, climbing him, taking advantage of the fact that he barely had anything on under the covers due to his earlier fever. The way they held each other, clingy, and assaulted each other’s lips, kissing fervently as though they'd never had before and they might never be able to ever again. The mage held the back of his head to keep him close as she devoured his lips. It looked like beyond lustfulness or yearning, it was simply flat out need.

Still pushing against him, not wanting her body distanced an inch away, she did pull her head back and frowned, mildly repulsed, “you taste like vomit.”

“Only it’s not surprising, is it?” Geralt grinned stupidly.

“You being disgusting? No.” Yennefer announced affectionately, “but I don’t care. I’m just so relieved you’re alive and we’re together,” she kissed him again, not as deeply, but no less devoted and she pulled her knees up to straddle him. He ran his fingers down her back, undoing the ties on her dress..

It had always been a great watch, feasting his eyes on the two fucking, they didn’t even mind and on occasion, in fact he was invited to join. But Jaskier didn’t even think himself this one should be one of those times. The silly buggers had doubted their connection without magic, he should leave them alone so they could prove it to each other. If there was any question he would leave, it was banished by the weighty hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

“You boy. You write and read well, don’t you. I have a job for you that I think you will like,” Vesemir steered him towards the partially burned down library in the shadows. Hopefully it was far away enough for him not to hear the cringey sounds of the lovemaking he could take no part in. Whatever the old man was asking, he was pretty sure he would volunteer just to take his mind off what was happening in that bed. Either that, or a little sit down in the cold water chasm under the bridge would do the trick. Sometimes, he really hated being the third wheel.

Tbc


	8. The Mighty Horde

Chapter 8: The Mighty Horde

Jaskier didn’t lie to himself, not about this. He missed Geralt, getting drunk with him, the adventures, Roach, landing in situations he had never thought possible, watching him wash the blood off of his naked body in a stream, work out lifting boulders barely breaking a sweat, slicing up wood for their fire..no, these thoughts will not lead him any closer to finishing his task, the one given to him by Vesemir, which was saving as much of and cataloging every book and fragment that was left of the once ample witchers’ school library. Of course he didn’t have to take this task. Nothing and nobody was forcing him to do it, apart from the fact that those two were together again and Jaskier knew fine well how such reunions went as they always went down the same way over the years. The supernatural couple sometimes would not leave the room for weeks and if they did go on the occasional hunt then that was worse, cause he had to listen and close his eyes to the pair getting it on under a tree and nowhere near as far from camp than he would have wanted them to. 

So when Vesemir suggested he should stay for the momentous task till next winter and till Geralt would return to Kaer Morhen, Julian thought he would save himself the trouble and heartache for once and catch up on witcher mythology instead. It did prove immensely and more useful than he would have imagined, actually. There was so much he’d learnt, about their history, training and their becoming, tales and the creatures they’ve fought and most importantly, the science of magic. Without given abilities, he was surely limited, but that didn’t mean he didn’t learn some basic spells even humans could attempt and his capacity and preparedness to make potions could come in handy one day. Jaskier could barely wait for the day when he could show off his new skills to his beloved witcher they were awaiting back soon, along with another knack he had acquired, even if not as adeptly as Vesemir would have wanted. Of course the old man could not put up with the bard’s inability to properly defend himself and had thought him both some fencing moves, as well as sparring with his knuckles, though at that he hadn’t been completely useless beforehand. 

The book about alchemy that he had found partially intact under a floorboard proved engrossing however, so he forgot for a bit about checking out the window all the time, hoping for Geralt’s tall form to appear on the slopes, with or without Yennefer. What he really didn’t expect was hearing what could most likely be an infant’s cries coming from downstairs and that he had to check out, make sure his ears were still working properly. He found all the currently on and off resident witchers in a circle, looking at and passing around a bundle of wool till the child finally quietened being given back to the black haired woman in the middle, who was even more surprisingly, Yennefer. Geralt stood with a big grin beside her, but stepped out the circle and crossed over the whole length of the hall to greet him as soon as he saw the bard. 

Jaskier revelled in the warm embrace. It lasted longer than he would have hoped for, but eventually curiosity got the better of him and he was the one who broke the witcher’s hold around him. “Come and meet my son! Here,” Geralt pushed him forward proudly. 

“What? Some other child surprise? How many do you have?” Jaskier didn’t understand why the white wolf was so glad about this development when he’d clearly tried to reject such unwanted gifts before. 

“My son,” Geralt repeated, “with Yen. Our child together. Beautiful like her.”

“But how..I thought..”

“Yes, we thought so too,” the mage smiled down at the baby, having followed Geralt out and away from the rest of the group, “but that concoction Vesemir fabricated, it created a mutation that made Geralt fertile. When I finally found out the ingredients, I figured it out quick what had happened.”

“Alright, but that doesn’t explain how you were able to have a child as well!”

“Don’t mention that part,” Geralt’s face darkened, “she almost died, replicating the brew and she didn’t even tell me she was going to. I have found her unconscious and could not wake her for days! You wouldn’t believe this, but it was Chireadan who helped us, bringing her back to me.”

“You would not have ever let me try otherwise. And then, would we have this precious little baby boy here?” 

“I’m happy for you, truly,” Jaskier meant it, at the same time as his heart was freezing to a stone, as it felt. How would he have a place left by Geralt’s side now? Surely not with his special family by his side. 

“We came back to ask, will you be his godfather if we asked nicely?” The white wolf put a hand on his bard’s shoulder and winked. It was clear how having a child had changed him into a happier person. 

“But of course!” The singer still didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, “and what is my godson’s name?”

“Julian. After my best friend in the whole wide world. I had to argue quite a lot with Yen over that one, I hope you appreciate it.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Yennefer waved him off goodnaturedly. Apparently, she has changed too. Maybe her being a mother wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I’m..your best friend? Did I just hear you say that?” The troubadour felt like it was too good to be true.

“Well, who else would I let rub chamomile oil onto my bottom?” He turned around to show some cuts on the back of his thighs that had ruined his clothing too, “it’s needed again. An archgriffin had dropped me onto some sharp rocks on the way up.”

“Rubbing I can do well,” Jaskier brightened, “follow me! It’s been so long since I could write a song about one of your quests, you need to speak up!” The bard was getting excited about all the prospects waiting for him within the next half hour or so. Then, possibly the rest of his life with his friend.

The End.


End file.
